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AyeshaPoems
you are moonlight kissed, and— yes, moonlight kissed and I, in winds, solidly see beads of my beloved grief strung in stranger fingers spidering around reckless on strings— and waves waves tiding, in ecstasy woven by violins I dare not learn, by flutes seeping, and sitars calling home a bird astray Vivaldi: a dry Storm sob that will not blossom, not, not, will not— twig fingers curl to taut fists as— Winter dribbles down on the ragged red throat and night like silk silk silk— silks on silks opaque! Ah— the troughs and oily hills zigzagging through the air and violins turn to pinpricked limbs and strums strums skipping tugging cruel and tearing— plucking tendons, plucking desperate and fast - you are moonlight kissed as the silver blush is teased by sea-creatures’ scaled splashes— a thousand good griefs tossed to air; but I am body only two woody legs folded in a branching of arms next to the trunk that timidly breathes, next to the fist-sized squirrel— my roots like cold fat moles curled up symphonies rush by giggling and I do not tremble
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Jan 22, 2022
Jan 22, 2022 at 4:42 AM UTC
Tremble
you are moonlight kissed, and— yes, moonlight kissed and I, in winds, solidly see beads of my beloved grief strung in stranger fingers spidering around reckless on strings— and waves waves tiding, in ecstasy woven by violins I dare not learn, by flutes seeping, and sitars calling home a bird astray Vivaldi: a dry Storm sob that will not blossom, not, not, will not— twig fingers curl to taut fists as— Winter dribbles down on the ragged red throat and night like silk silk silk— silks on silks opaque! Ah— the troughs and oily hills zigzagging through the air and violins turn to pinpricked limbs and strums strums skipping tugging cruel and tearing— plucking tendons, plucking desperate and fast - you are moonlight kissed as the silver blush is teased by sea-creatures’ scaled splashes— a thousand good griefs tossed to air; but I am body only two woody legs folded in a branching of arms next to the trunk that timidly breathes, next to the fist-sized squirrel— my roots like cold fat moles curled up symphonies rush by giggling and I do not tremble
21/01/2022 I have never met a sea, but I often wonder how it would go
#sea
Ayesha
Written by
Ayesha
21/F/Pakistan
Jan 22, 2022
Jan 22, 2022 at 4:42 AM UTC
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